As always, the next two chapters are up on my P-a-t-r-e-o-n, here: h*t*t*p*s :/ w*w*w . p*a*t*r*e*o*n user - ? - u = 52718582 (remove the spaces and stars). Or just do a search for Skyborne's P-a-t-r-e-o-n.

"Oh, Mother, please forgive us."

"Mother Isha, thank you, thank you-"

"Mother!"

Craftworld Iyanden was a miracle of Aeldari craftsmanship. Sung into existence by the finest shipwrights of the Dominion, it was a vessel of living, breathing crystal the size of a continent, shielded by an array of force fields protecting it from the vacuum of space far better than any physical barrier ever could.

What it was not, however, was a warship.

Craftworlds were vessels meant for trade and exploration, and also essentially as mobile colonies. Accordingly, they were designed primarily for speed and comfort.

That is not to say they were defenceless. The galaxy had never been truly, completely safe even at the height of the Dominion's might, and it would have been foolish to build vessels equipped with no arms whatsoever. There were in-built defence systems far surpassing the technology of the younger races, and a legion of psychomatons on-board, ready and able to defend the Craftworld from any threat that it might encounter.

Nevertheless, a Craftworld was not a warship. It was not meant to endure alone in a galaxy in flames, and it had certainly not been meant to survive the destruction of the Dominion.

That it had was a testament to the courage and resourcefulness of her children. But it had not survived those ages unscathed.

The vessel was battered and bleeding, its people even more so. And thus Isha did her best to smile as she walked around the Craftworld, soothing the people of Iyanden and healing whatever she could.

It was difficult. Both because of her mood, and the Emperor's presence nearby in the Warp, still burning brightly with wounded rage.

But she had to try.

"Tell us a story, Mother!"

Isha smiled at the small child in front of her, his bright blue eyes wide and eager as he looked up at her.

"Story!" The boy's friends cried as well, and soon there was a chorus of children clamouring for her attention.

"Of course, little one," She murmured, reaching out to ruffle a head of fluffy silver hair with her free hand, the other one cradling a sleeping toddler. "Let me tell you the story of Caledor Dragontamer, and how he first befriended the great dragons of old…"

The crowd of small faces stared at her, enthralled as Isha wove her tale, even as her heart ached at the thought that she would have to leave them alone again, soon.

Still, she continued the story. "When Draugnir, the Father of Dragons, and Caledor first met, they did not like each other very much. Draugnir thought Caledor was an arrogant young upstart, Caledor saw only an old, arrogant creature distant from the realities of the world. But they would soon become the closest of friends, brothers in all but blood…"

A gentle breeze blew through the garden, as Isha continued to weave her tale for some time, even as the children slowly fell asleep on the soft green grass.

"...and then, the two of them promised eternal friendship and peace between their people, swearing to come to each other's defense whenever they were needed." Isha finished with a soft smile as the last of the children, the silver-haired boy who had asked for it in the first place, dozed off, his eyes fluttering shut.

"May I?" A voice asked from behind her and Isha turned to its' owner; the caretaker, a kindly looking man with soft brown hair and amber eyes, dressed in vibrant green robes that almost blended in with the garden and trees around them. He was not short for an Eldar, but in her natural form, Isha towered far above her children, and even sitting crossed-legged on the ground as she was, the caretaker was barely eye-level with her.

He nodded to the toddler in her grasp, and with only a little reluctance, Isha relinquished the child, who grumbled and clutched at her dress with small hands for a moment but settled swiftly into his caretaker's arms.

"You have all done well caring for these children, Imladrik," Isha said. "I am proud."

Imladrik blushed slightly as he smiled, another Eldar coming up from behind him to gather the children and herd them off to bed. "Thank you, Mother. I am glad you came to see us here. It has…been a difficult few millennia." He said quietly, gently stroking the toddler's hair. "There are far fewer children than there once were, and raising them is harder, with so many people occupied with other duties, to try to keep us alive."

Isha smiled sadly. "I am sorry, my son. But you have done the best you can with limited resources." Child-rearing had long been a communal activity among the Aeldari, and she was glad to see the tradition endured still, even if there were fewer people available than there should have been.

"I have faith in you, and I believe you will all do the best in the years to come," Isha continued, letting her power flow across the caretakers, gifting small, almost unnoticeable blessings to them, which would strengthen their resolve, give them more energy, and allow them greater insight into the moods of the children.

It wasn't much, but she dared not give out too many blessings at the moment.

"Come, Imladrik," She said, rising to her feet, brushing the grass off her dress and beckoning to him. "Tell me more of your problems, and let us see what we can do about them."

Imladrik beamed and nodded, and Isha followed him as he began to speak.

But even as one part of Isha stayed focused on the children, another part of her was far away.

Isha frowned as she looked at the legion of psychomatons in front of her, examining them carefully.

The word 'psychomaton' had always been a singular name for a large and diverse group of automata, and even though Iyanden's psychomaton legions were but a shadow of what they had once been, they were no exception. In front of Isha stood not only faceless crystal knights but also small yet lethal fighter ships that could cut far larger vessels to shreds, hovering spirit-drones in the shape of large spheres, and more.

The one thing they all had in common was the gleaming crystalline wraithbone they had all been grown from.

There were well over a thousand of them, all of them arrayed in the cavernous halls below Iyanden's surface…but that was still far too few. The halls were large enough to accommodate twenty times the number of psychomatons in front of her, but all those were gone. This had once been a production facility for such constructs, but the forges were all badly damaged, still showing signs of the backlash from the destruction of the Dominion's Eternal Matrix. Some had been rebuilt, and there were bonesingers at their stations, trying to craft new weapons and defences even as they all cast her worshipful looks, but the repairs were obviously improvised, and what weapons the forges could turn out were far inferior to true psychomatons.

And of the remaining psychomatons…even the ones still functioning were damaged and broken in several places, suffering from the same backlash that ailed the forges and the many other trials over the aeons. The ones that were not intact were practically in ruins, barely held together by patchwork repairs.

"Can you heal them, Mother?" Invaril asked hopefully, Fleet Marshall Sernalla standing behind him, her arms crossed.

"I can," She nodded. The psychomatons were all wraithbone, after all, and unlike the human automatons, there was an organic component there that would let Isha restore them to full strength easily enough.

It also helped that the psychomatons in front of her were of relatively low grade and quality. They would still be a formidable force once repaired, easily the match of the Emperor's super soldiers…but they were hardly the pinnacle of the weapons her children had built, never mind what Vaul had been capable of.

"I cannot build new ones, however," She continued. "That would take more time and effort than I can spare for now." She could work out the process of building automatons with the bonesingers of Iyanden, of that Isha was sure, but that would mean staying on Iyanden for longer than the Emperor would permit. Years, perhaps.

Not to mention, Isha was not sure whether or not the Emperor would take it as a provocation if she started constructing an army of psychic automata at his doorstep. She was already pushing her boundaries by repairing these, given his foul mood, but she could not simply leave her children with their current meagre defenses.

A mixture of disappointment and relief crossed Invaril and Sernalla's faces, but they both nodded.

Stepping forward, Isha clapped her hands, releasing a wave of power to reshape reality to her will.

At her command, atoms began binding with each other again. Cells started replicating rapidly at her encouragement and the crystal began to grow back, artificial limbs and lost wings regrowing as though they had never been gone. The psychomatons almost seemed to stand taller and prouder as their limbs were repaired and the wounds filled in.

Their programming and instructions required some repairs as well, and Isha soothed the wounded spirits of the psychomatons, patting them and healing them the same way she would have done with her husband's hunting hounds, once upon a time. And just like those hounds, the spirits responded eagerly to her touch, leaning in and nuzzling as she restored them, filling in the gaps and removing the lingering marks of both Slaanesh and Khaine's influence.

At last, as she finished, the psychomatons all lit up, all of them now glowing a soft green, humming with life.

Invaril stepped forward eagerly. "Psychomatons, report."

Iyanden Defense Squadron 28% active…

All units operating at peak capacity…

New primary controller designated: Isha, Everqueen and Mother…

The psychic broadcast from the psychomatons made Invaril beam and Sernalla smile faintly as they both turned to Isha with gratitude shining in their eyes,

"Thank you so much, Mother," Invaril said. "This will make things so much easier."

"I am glad to help," Isha said warmly, before turning to the Fleet Marshal.

Sernalla was a tall woman, broad for an Eldar, with shoulder-length dark hair tied back in a braid, and pale skin, clad in close-fitting blue and yellow armour. She would have been fairly unremarkable for an Eldar, if not for two things.

One was the vicious set of scars across her face, which Isha was told had been carved by an Ork warlord.

And the other was her left arm, which had been torn off by some human pirate. Unable to regenerate the arm given Iyanden's dwindling resources, Invaril had fashioned a wraithbone replacement. An arm of deep blue crystal not merely attached to the empty arm socket as a more primitive prosthetic might, but bonding with the flesh and growing into it.

Sernalla stiffened at Isha's attention as the goddess stepped closer to her, clearly uncertain. Of all the council, Sernalla had been the most skeptical, even if she had not voiced it, regarding Isha with mingled hope and fear, the former not outweighing the latter as it did for the others.

Isha could not blame her, but she needed her trust.

"I can restore your arm and remove your scars if you would like?" Isha offered gently. "It would only take a moment.

Sernalla hesitated, her face caught with conflicting emotions, but then she shook her head. "No. I am not ashamed of these scars, and I have no wish to pretend I never had them. I am proud to have borne them in Iyanden's defence."

"I understand," Isha nodded. She had heard similar things before, so this was not entirely surprising. "Now, tell me, Fleet Marshal, is there anything else I can do to enhance Iyanden's defences? I am open to all suggestions."

Sernalla nodded slowly. "I have a few ideas."

Such a small, flickering thing.

All Isha could think as she sat on the floor of the chamber and stared at the last ember of Asuryan's flame was that it was such a small, flickering thing.

For as long as she could remember, Asuryan had been a great beacon, a cosmic flame so radiant and intense that it could blind anyone who dared look too closely at it.

The Emperor of Heaven had always seemed unbreakable. Unyielding. Eternal.

Invincible.

But in the end, he had not been. The Phoenix King had died, and all that was left was this one spark of his power. It was not like the shard of Khaine, not even a shadow of a shadow of Asuryan.

Even this temple was a small, humble thing, built in haste and with only a handful of priests to oversee it.

And yet, Isha knew even a spark could become an inferno, under the right circumstances. This ember had already bound itself to Iyanden and its people, Isha could tell. It reflected their hopes and dreams, their fears and despair. And the Priests had told her it had burned more brightly and fiercely ever since she had arrived.

Isha wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She sighed wearily as she watched the flame continue to crackle, feeling the weight of the ages. Asuryan had been so many things to her, both good and bad, and she did not have the strength in her to sort out any of those feelings at the moment.

But that aside, there remained one important question.

Should she dare to take the ember? To claim it for her own, and make it a part of her?

It would not be an easy or simple process, but she could do it. Unlike the shard of Khaine, this small flame had only the barest fraction of Asuryan's will. There was no danger of it overwhelming her, twisting her.

But as with everything, the shadow of the Emperor loomed large. Isha was not sure how he would react to her attempt to absorb the flame.

…no, she doubted he would even let her complete the ritual to claim it in the first place.

She would most likely have to claim the Flame for herself in the future, but that day was not today.

With one last glance at the Flame, Isha allowed her projection to dissolve into a shower of green light, leaving it behind.

And while her various projections tended to other tasks, Isha's primary avatar stood in the council chambers, speaking to the remaining leaders of the Craftworlds.

"I cannot stay," She said, her words sombre but resolute. "I will not risk your lives by defying the Emperor any further. He is already angry enough as it is."

Lord Cadaith slammed his fist on the table. "Damn it all," He hissed, clearly furious. Not at Isha, but at the Emperor, at himself for his helplessness. "How did a human god become so powerful? How did he Incarnate?"

"I do not know all the details yet," Isha admitted. And given the Emperor's anger, she never might. "But the fact remains that he is, while I am much diminished. I need his protection and his support."

"Is there no other way?" The Priest of Asuryan asked bleakly, his eyes shadowed with despair. "The shard of the Bloody-Handed One, and…the Flame of Asuryan. Could they not help you? Could you not take their power and wield it?"

"I am afraid not," Isha said gently. "Absorbing the power of other gods is a long and risky process, and in any case, those are but mere embers. They will not raise me to a level capable of matching the Emperor's might."

The Priest slumped in his seat, his desire for a drink clear. Cadaith was still fuming, his face red with rage but unwilling to be crass in Isha's presence.

Mehlendri, however, leaned forward, her eyes cold and sharp.

"What price do we have to pay for the Emperor to let you go, Mother?" She asked, her voice quiet and firm. "I am willing to pay it, whatever it may be."

"Mehlendri!" Cadaith protested, jerking forward.

"I will hear no objections," Mehlendri said coldly, fixing the self-styled lord with an icy glare. "We need Mother Isha. All of us, not just Iyanden, but all those Aeldari that still love. Her presence is worth whatever price a barbarian god will demand."

"I am touched, my children," Isha cut in, gently but firmly. "But it is not that simple. I am only safe because the Emperor shields me in both the Materium and Immaterium. I cannot survive without him. And if we are to survive and thrive in this age, I must have his alliance."

"The Webway-" Mehlendri began, but Isha shook her head.

"I could pour my whole self into the Webway, but then I would be limited. I would not be able to leave or challenge the Gods of Chaos or rebuild my realms in the Aethyr. I wish for you, my children, to not merely survive, but to live. To thrive. I will not cower in the Webway when there are other options available."

"But being the Emperor's prisoner is not better!" Mehlendri protested.

"Yes, it is," Isha said evenly. "Not least because unlike running into the Webway, it will not leave you all at the Emperor's mercy."

Mehlendri stepped forward and knelt on one knee. "Mother Isha, please. If you die, then…"

"I will not die," Isha assured them quietly. Of that she was sure. She was too useful to the Emperor. "This is the best way forward, my children, even if it does not seem like it. And I will not go without helping you all."

Mehlendri swallowed, the stoic mask cracking as tears gathered in her eyes. Isha stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and the same feeling echoed to Dreamspinner and Cadaith as well, and across all of Iyanden.

"Do not despair, my children. Have faith," She said softly. "Now, there is one last thing I must do before I leave."

An hour later, Isha stood at the centre of Iyanden, a crowd milling around her, staring at her with awe. Isha would have liked to speak to them, but what she was about to do would speak far louder than mere words ever could.

Isha knelt on one knee, pressing her hand to the ground of Iyanden.

The Craftworld was alive in a sense, forged from wraithbone as it was, but it was only an imitation of a true world. It could grow and heal, but it lacked the true spark of life.

Time to change that.

Letting her power flow through the Craftworld, Isha ignored the murmurs of awe and shock as the entirety of Iyanden began to glow a soft, gentle green. She could feel the Emperor's focus intensify, but she ignored that as well.

Her power seeped into every last cell of Iyanden, and the Craftworld shifted and grew under her command. The wounds the vessel had suffered over the years knitted themselves together, cells reconnecting and regenerating.

The neglected, decaying forests over Iyanden bloomed once more, as Isha called upon the echo of what they had once been in the Warp, restoring their lost vitality and strength, reviving that which had died as black leaves turned verdant green, grey trunks became brown once more, and flowers sprouted everywhere.

The tendrils of crystal linking Iyanden to the smaller Craftworld became great green vines, thick and strong, strengthening and multiplying as they all became entwined, truly binding the two Craftworlds into one.

And in front of Isha, a sprout emerged from the ground. Small and fragile, it swelled rapidly, becoming a great tree, its trunk stronger than any metal, rising high into the sky, as tall as Iyanden's tallest tower. Great branches with enormous green leaves emerged from the sides of the tree, but instead of fruit, the branches were heavy with glittering crystals in a thousand colours and more; dreamstones for her children.

And then the dreamstones began to fall, even as new ones grew almost instantly in their place, her children crying out in wonder and awe.

But there was one last thing to do.

At the heart of the Craftworld, Isha planted a seed. A spark of life. Quiet and small for now, but one that would grow and strengthen over time, becoming the guardian of Iyanden, protecting it for all time.

A World Spirit.

She could not bring it to full maturity immediately in her diminished state, even if the Emperor had not been hovering nearby, his presence a guillotine waiting to descend over Iyanden.

But it would be there if her worst fears came to pass.

Straightening, Isha smoothed her dress as her children laughed around her, snatching the dreamstones out of the air or plucking them from the ground.

These Tears of mine will protect you from She Who Thirsts, my beloved children. Use them well.

The words resonated across the Craftworld, in the heart and mind of every Eldar, and they all burst into either happy tears or raucous cheering.

"For the Mother, for the Everqueen, for Life!" The chant erupted across the world, and Isha smiled at the renewed sense of hope and joy she had been able to give at least a fraction of her children.

But her happiness was marred as the Emperor's presence loomed closer in the Warp, the golden flames around her immaterial self tightening in a reminder.

Her time was up, it seemed.